


Long Live the King

by StarlightPhoenix



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Death of an OC, Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Implied Power Imbalance, Implied Sexual Content, M for chapter 2 and 3, M/M, Minor Character Death, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Ruler of Hell Crowley (Good Omens), Torture, its a fade to black don't worry, its really not they love each other, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21841834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightPhoenix/pseuds/StarlightPhoenix
Summary: During the stand-off against Satan, Adam haddone something.Satan never returned, and Hell had no King.Beelzebub had no choice but to go to Crowley, Serpent of Eden, and offer him the Throne.Crowley had no choice but to accept, knowing it would keep him and Aziraphale safe.All hail the Serpent of Eden.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 353





	1. A New King

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by [my own tumblr post,](https://cleverlittlejay.tumblr.com/post/186562141724/you-know-what-good-omens-x-lucifer-crossover-i) though that one was supposed to be a crossover.

Sitting at their desk, Beelzebub was not having a good day. The last week took a toll on Hell. Ten million demons were prepared for war, _The War,_ and then ten million demons were told to stand down, and then a demon survived Holy Water, and one single demon was responsible for Beelzebub’s terrible, awful, no good week. 

Above all, Beelzebub was the only demon in Hell to know about their Lord Satan. Well, the _lack_ of their Lord Satan. 

The Antichrist, Adam, had _done something_ when renouncing Satan as his father. That day, Beelzebub had waited in Hell, ready to give the signal when Lord Satan returned victorious from convincing the child to restart the War. They waited, and waited, and waited until Hell shook with the force of the Antichrist. Then it stopped, demons dusting off fallen debris and wondering if that was the signal to go to war. Beelzebub still waited for their Lord. 

And he did not come. 

They, along with Dagon, called off the demons.

They went to their Lord’s throne, demanding answers. 

He was not there.

They went to their Lord’s personal chambers, which were just as empty as the throne. 

They asked the Dukes, all of which pointed back to the empty throne room. 

Later, Hastur came to them, babbling about back channels and revenge and Holy Water. It was a good distraction, working with an archangel to destroy the demon responsible for the failed Armageddon. The trial was theatrical, Beelzebub putting on a show for the other demons keeping witness, the traitor playing his own role as entertainment. 

One week later, Beelzebub had no Armageddon, no King of Hell, a traitor demon immune to Holy Water, a traitor angel immune to Hellfire, and no idea what to do next. 

As far as they knew, Satan was not coming back. Beelzebub might, if pressed, say Satan is gone completely. Hell, for the first time since it’s conception six thousand years ago, had no King. 

Hell needed a King, and Beelzebub refused to take the throne. They were content with their title of Prince, already exhausted from the constant complaining of the Dukes who came to them with every single issue and no desire to fix the problems without dragging Beelzebub into it. 

The Dukes, unable to take care of the simplest arguments, would collapse under the responsibilities of the throne, dragging Beelzebub and the rest of Hell with them. 

The other demons were pathetic. They took orders well, but Hell was monotone, requiring no independent thought. If any assignment required quick thinking, it would be on Earth, given to–

There was no one else. 

Hell needed a King. 

Beelzebub just needed to convince the Serpent to accept. 

–

One week after the failed Armageddon, Crowley was having a blast. 

With Heaven and Hell no longer bothering them, he and Aziraphale were free to do as they pleased. They’ve already been on more dates in the last week than in the last six thousand years, dining at the Ritz, picnicking at St. James’ Park, visiting bakeries and cafes and the memorable Starbucks visit that had Aziraphale complaining about America’s obsession with speed over comfort. 

Other than one quick visit to his flat, Crowley stayed at the bookshop. The shop was closed, the chairs were comfortable, and Aziraphale’s voice lulled him into a doze as the angel recounted obtaining a special first print of _The Picture of Dorian Gray._ Despite being in human form, Crowley’s reptilian instincts enjoyed the warmth and safety, persuading him to take a nap. 

As the sunlight waned and Aziraphale moved on to possible dinner plans, Crowley felt a shift in the air. Unrelated to the setting sun, a darkness loomed over Soho. 

Crowley’s sense of safety pulled back, instincts panicking, wondering what was happening and how to get away quickly. 

The doorbell chimed. 

He leapt up, recognizing the looming darkness, pulling Aziraphale behind him. The angel stood just as rigid, peering at the Prince of Hell at the door. 

Beelzebub stayed just in front of the door, blocking the exit. The only other method of escape would be the fire exit from the second floor, and Crowley knew they wouldn’t get there in time. 

“Tra-Crowley,” Beelzebub corrected. 

“Hey, there, Beez,” he grinned, aiming for nonchalant. From the Prince of Hell’s twitch, he would say he was successful. “You should’ve called ahead. We would’ve cleaned up for you.”

He watched Beelzebub steady themself. “Crowley. I come with an offer.”

“Yeah? I thought the deal was to leave us alone from now on. That was _my_ offer to _you.”_

“I have a better offer. There is a situation–” Beelzebub stopped, frustration crossing their face. “There is a _position_ for you in Hell, if you were to come back.”

“Oh, did you remember Ligur’s death? Need a new Duke, do you?”

Again, Beelzebub twitched. Clearly they weren’t too pleased, and Crowley would have pushed them farther if Aziraphale’s hand on his back didn’t remind him that one wrong move could kill them both. As it was, the angel’s hand was shaking and Crowley knew he needed to end the conversation and get Beelzebub out. 

“No, we have bigger problems than Ligur’s death. Since the failed Armageddon, Lord Satan has disappeared. Hell does not have a King, and I–” Another pause, Beelzebub forcing the words out. _“I am here to offer you the Throne.”_

Crowley could only watch Beelzebub stand tall, despite their short height. Crowley expected some kind of pardon, luring him back to Hell to torture him for his betrayal. He expected another kidnapping, either his or Aziraphale’s, for revenge, another Heaven-Hell collaboration. 

He did not expect Beelzebub to be such an _awful liar._

“The Throne,” he repeated. “You want me to be the King of Hell? Look Beelzebub, I’m not going to waltz back to Hell for you to try some new form of torture on me. You leave us alone, we leave you alone. That was our deal.”

 _“Thizzz izzz not a joke,”_ Beelzebub snapped, buzzing in irritation. “Lord Satan is gone and there is no one elzzze.”

Crowley raised his head with a confidence he didn’t have. Aziraphale’s hand reminded him of everything he had to lose if he showed any weakness and let Beelzebub win, and that was unacceptable. He needed to get rid of the Prince. 

“You want a new King? Do it yourself. Get out of Aziraphale’s shop, or you won’t like what we do next.”

Crowley had no idea what they would do if Beelzebub refused. They had no weapons, no escape, and no plan. 

He didn’t need to worry. Beelzebub took one final look at him, blessedly ignoring the angel, and left.

They stood still for a long moment. 

The next day, they bought a charming seaside cottage, boxing up Aziraphale’s books and Crowley’s favorite houseplants. They didn’t bother to sell the Mayfair flat or the bookshop. It’s not as if they paid rent anyways. 

–

Despite the move, the paranoia did not leave. They planned escape routes, mapped out the multiple exits and possible meetups and code words to keep Heaven and Hell in the dark. Crowley wanted wards as extra protection, but wards did not discriminate between specific demons, and it would be impossible to keep out Hell without locking Crowley out too. 

One month after the failed Armageddon, three weeks after Beelzebub found them at Aziraphale’s bookshop, the Prince found them again at the South Downs. 

Beelzebub knocked and waited for one of them to open the door. 

The sheer novelty of Beelzebub not storming in made them pause. 

The kitchen led to an open garden, enough trees lining the edges for them to hide. Aziraphale had a flaming sword made to kill demons during the War. Crowley had convinced the angel to bless the water inside one of his plant misters, just as he bluffed to Hastur once. If they were separated, they would meet at Hyde Park–not St. James, no, that was too predictable–in London, in three days. 

Except–

Beelzebub _knocked._

They stared at each other, silently arguing, both wondering if they should open the door and let in the Prince of Hell. 

Aziraphale stood in the back hallway, just out of sight, sword extinguished but still in hand. Crowley held his Holy Water mister by his side and went to open the door.

Beelzebub looked _awful._

Usually a compliment for demons, Beelzebub looked awful in a way that would have other demons wince in sympathy. Everything was a mess, from their hair to their rumpled suit and sash. Their face, usually pocked and covered in boils, was pulled taut, deep circles under their eyes. The beloved fly hat was missing.

“Hey there, Beelzebub. Did you bring a housewarming gift?”

The Prince met his stare, silent. 

“Uh, do you want to come in?”

He could feel Aziraphale stiffening, wondering if he was being silently threatened. He couldn’t imagine Beelzebub threatening anyone in their sorry state. 

He led the Prince to the living room, grip tight on his plant mister. Aziraphale stepped into view, faltering at the sight. But he refused to be distracted, standing alert with the sword in front of him. 

Crowley and Beelzebub sat, one curious and feigning relaxation, the other slumped over in defeat. 

It was clear that Beelzebub was not going to have the first word. 

“So, what brings you here?”

“Crowley.” Even their voice was a sorry sound, weak with exhaustion. “I come with the same offer as before. The Throne to Hell.”

“Why?”

“The Antichrist did something. Lord Satan hasn’t been seen since then. Hell has no King, and the demons are impatient. There are talks of rebellion. Someone needs to be King.”

“Why _me?”_ he stressed. “You can do it. You’re already the Prince.”

“And it is tiring enough. Even if I became King, someone would need to be the next Prince, and there’s no one in Hell competent for that. You could’ve been King back then, if you wanted. You have the… qualifications.”

The commendations, the titles, the reputation, Crowley had it all. He just didn’t have the _desire_ to be King, not when he could explore Earth with Aziraphale. 

“Qualifications,” Aziraphale repeated questioningly. 

Beelzebub glanced at the angel before settling their gaze back on Crowley. “He tempted Eve to eat the apple. Lord Satan took credit for that, but we demons remembered. Crowley could have fought for the Throne, if he wanted.”

 _“If I wanted._ I don’t want. At all. I just want to be here, on Earth.” 

The Prince looked at him. In that moment, they looked small, the weight of Hell crushing down on them. The chaos of being Kingless sapped their energy until they drowned in despair. 

Beelzebub slid off the couch, kneeling in front of him, head bowed down. 

“Crowley. Serpent of Eden. Tempter of Eve. I offer you the Throne of Hell.” Beelzebub made a noise that suspiciously sounded like a sniffle, if Crowley was willing to take that risk. _“Pleazze.”_

Crowley stared at the kneeling figure. And then at Aziraphale. 

The angel gestured at Beelzebub and waved his arms wildly, forgetting the sword in his hand. With Beelzebub’s head down, Crowley was free to wave his own arms in confusion.

_What do we do?_

_We? This is a_ you _matter, dear._

 _Okay, what do_ I _do?_

_Perhaps you should agree?_

_What if it’s a trap?_

_I don’t believe Beelzebub is tricking you. They look as if they’re going to cry._

Beelzebub didn’t look up at the motions, and Crowley guessed their eyes were pressed shut. 

It wasn’t a trap. Beelzebub had other ways to bring him back to Hell without debasing themself like this. The Prince does not bow to anyone except the King, and even then, it really was a short bow. This was something else. This was desperation. 

Hopelessness. 

“I accept.”

They jerked back and then remembered their position, keeping their head down. 

“Get up,” he ordered.

They stood, head still lowered. 

“Oh–stop that! Stop looking so–so sad! I said yes, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Beelzebub agreed, meeting his eye again. 

“There’s still the question of the other demons,” Aziraphale pointed out. “I don’t think they’ll be very accepting of Crowley as their King.”

Beelzebub grinned, eyes and teeth sharp. Whatever despair surrounded them lessened. They turned to Aziraphale, shoulders back and chin up. 

“They will if they’re scared. Didn’t you hear, Principality? Lord Satan was defeated on the day of the failed Armageddon. Crowley, unwilling to end his reign of terror on Earth, bested him. And now, he returns to claim his Throne.”

Oh! 

Oh, it was _genius!_ No other demon knew what happened that day. If they played it right, Crowley could have the fear of every demon in Hell for regicide. 

“What about the trial by Holy Water?”

“Not very demonic,” Crowley agreed. 

“If the King could be killed by Holy Water, it would be easy for any angel to kill him. No, that is just further evidence that you are meant to be King.”

They glanced at each other, wondering if they should… Nah. Probably best to keep it a secret for now.

“So you thought all this out,” Crowley concluded. “Now what?”

“Now, we summon the demons and have you crowned.”

“Now? Like, _right now?”_

Beelzebub frowned. “We can… wait? If you wish.”

“Yes! Yes, I wish to wait. Just for a little bit.”

They nodded. “As my King commands.”

Crowley blinked behind his shades. Right. Command. King. He assumed Beelzebub’s show of loyalty was over, or at least put on hold until the actual crowning, but apparently not.

“Come back tomorrow,” he ordered. “We can finish planning out everything and get on with it.”

Beelzebub bowed again, and left. 

–

Beelzebub was impressed. Their eyes studied him, his black suit paired with a deep crimson vest, hair fluffed, standing with his arms open and grinning. He still looked human, demonic traits hidden away for the time being. 

“Well?” He prompted. “Do I look devilishly handsome?”

Aziraphale smiled at his joke. As soon as Crowley stepped out that morning, the angel had wanted to undress him again, and only the thought of Beelzebub interrupting their fun prevented that. Even then, Crowley needed to miracle out the wrinkles from wandering hands. 

“It will do.” Beelzebub glanced at Aziraphale. “Perhaps some goodbyes?”

Crowley nodded, moving closer to Aziraphale. Beelzebub stood by the door, pointedly not watching Crowley lean towards the angel and cup his face.

“I’ll be back,” Crowley whispered. “I’ll do this, and then I’ll be back and we’ll be together.”

Aziraphale pulled off his shades, leaving Crowley defenseless against the bright blue eyes. The angel looked at him, unflinching at the yellow eyes that terrified humans and marked him as a demon, unworthy of the pure love of an angel, but not unworthy of Aziraphale, _never_ unworthy of Aziraphale. 

No, the angel seared his touch into Crowley’s skin, reminding him again and again that he was loved. 

“I know, my dear. I’ll be waiting.”

He kissed Aziraphale, memorizing the gentle touch, the soft hands on his waist and in his hair, the scent of sugar and vanilla and divinity, not knowing when he’ll see Aziraphale again, needing the moment to keep him going until they met again. 

He stepped back, pushing the sunglasses back on his face. 

Suddenly, he wanted to refuse, to tell Beelzebub that he changed his mind. He wanted to run away again, elope to Alpha Centauri with Aziraphale, away from Hell and Heaven and anyone who could hurt them.

Except, Beelzebub already won Aziraphale’s support. Being King would offer them both protection from Heaven and Hell. It was their best chance at being left alone. 

They waited six thousand years to be together. They could wait a few more. 

The walk to Hell went without a problem. Beelzebub walked a step behind him, maintaining a respectable distance, and Crowley was glad that he knew where he was going. The demons were already summoned to the throne room, a cavernous space that fit all ten million demons if they squished together, leaving the entrances empty. 

The Dukes stood by the door. He met Hastur’s eyes, smirking when the other looked away. 

Since nothing like this happened before, Crowley and Beelzebub created their own procession. Both demons loved a good show, as proven by his trial. And though Crowley wasn’t actually there, Aziraphale recounted the Prince’s theatrical sham trial to a very delighted Crowley. 

The Dukes entered first, lining the sides and signalling the start. 

A silence fell, demons standing witness. Beyond the throne room, the damned wondered at the occasion that granted them a day of mercy. 

Ten million demons, with too many eyes to count, watched Beelzebub enter next. The Prince was perfectly, awfully put together, red sash and all. Not even their flies dared disturb the peace. 

Crowley was left alone on the other side of the door, fidgeting with his sleeves while he still could without judgement. His sunglasses sat in his pocket. No need to cover his eyes when surrounded by demons.

Beelzebub’s voice sounded through the cavern, speech practiced earlier that day. 

“Demons of Hell! Our Lord Satan was weak! He failed to bring the War, and he was vanquished, not by the angels, but by another demon!”

Crowley covered a snicker. If only they all knew. 

“He was not fit to be a King!”

 _Well,_ he did great for six thousand years. But that wouldn’t help morale for their little charade. 

“We will have a new King, the one who defeated Satan! He returns to us, victorious, to claim the Throne that is rightfully his! The Serpent of Eden, the Tempter of Eve, the Architect of Man’s First Sin!”

He took a final moment to roll his eyes at the titles before entering the throne room. 

His footsteps echoed in the silence, every set of eyes following his movements. He sauntered to the edge of the raised stage, slowly pacing from one side to the other, surveying his soon-to-be subjects. The demons stared back, taking in his casual prowl, his bright eyes, his wicked smirk. As soon as his gaze fell on them, they would look away and keep their head down.

He circled back to stand in front of the throne. It stood tall, a dark obsidian that would be not comfortable at all, reflecting hints of red from the Hellfire. Beside it, on a cushion on a table, was the crown, just as black as the throne, rubies finishing the aesthetic.

Beelzebub faced him, and they shared a moment of victory. 

“Crowley, Hell offers you the Throne.”

The offer rang through the cavern. 

“I accept.”

He stepped back and sat down. 

Beelzebub placed the crown on his head, completing the ensemble, and then moved aside, allowing him to behold his new subjects. If they were refusing to make eye contact before, they didn’t dare look up at all now. 

“All hail the Serpent of Eden!” Beelzebub called. 

“All hail the Serpent of Eden,” the demons repeated. The voices of ten million demons shook the walls, the declaration echoing throughout Hell and into the very foundations. 

“All hail the new King!” 

“All hail the new King!”

Crowley leaned back.

_All hail the new King._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> This fic is complete, and I'll be updating it once a day. 
> 
> For more GO content, you can follow me at [cleverlittlejay.tumblr.com](https://cleverlittlejay.tumblr.com/)


	2. A Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale are reunited, but not without some problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavily-implied sex, perceived power imbalance (but not really), hurt Aziraphale, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of injury

Seven months since the failed Armageddon, six months since he became King of Hell, Crowley was missing his angel. Their last kiss lingered in his memory, reminding him why he was in Hell at all. 

Beelzebub took pity on him sometimes, going to Earth and visiting Aziraphale, bringing back news. But no matter how many times Beelzebub told him that Aziraphale was well, reading his books and visiting farmer’s markets and blessing babies, it wasn’t enough to soothe his longing. He was glad,  _ so glad, _ that Aziraphale was safe, but that didn’t stop the ache in his heart. 

Crowley sat in his room in Hell, left with nothing but his thoughts.

He wondered what Aziraphale was doing, wondered when he would see his angel again, wondered how much longer he would have to wait before being able to leave again.

Sometimes, his thoughts had mercy on his poor heart and wandered. He wondered if he could get a smaller crown for when he was in snake form, and then if he could get a smaller pair of sunglasses, and the image of a snake in a crown and sunglasses entertained him for a few minutes until he remembered Aziraphale again. 

Mostly, he stayed in his rooms as often as possible, occasionally prowling the hallways to keep the other demons in line. He liked his rooms. They had a second, more comfortable throne for all his dramatic lounging needs. 

The doors slammed open. 

Crowley jolted up, staring at the sight. 

Beelzebub entered first, holding a golden chain that led to–

Aziraphale. His angel, handcuffed and chained. In Hell. 

“What?”

“I’ve been kidnapped,” Aziraphale explained gleefully, holding up his cuffed wrists. 

“You’ve been  _ mizzzerable,” _ Beelzebub explained. “I thought this would help, my King.”

“Heaven can’t see us here,” Aziraphale added. “All they know is that I’ve been kidnapped by Hell, and they don’t care to help. This way, we can be together.” 

For the first time in his existence, Crowley was glad that Heaven ignored Aziraphale.

He wordlessly held out his arms, Aziraphale easily fitting into the space between his legs. Wrists still bound together, Aziraphale pressed his hands into Crowley’s lap, leaning in for their first kiss in months. Crowley pulled his angel closer, finally able to bury his fingers in those soft curls. Another hand found purchase on Aziraphale’s back, forcing the angel into his lap, not that the accompanying moan sounded too upset. 

He finally broke the kiss, looking at Beelzebub over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’d give you a promotion, but I don’t think you want that, since the only position left is mine.”

“Not happening,” Beelzebub agreed.

Tired of being ignored, Aziraphale kissed him again, short and sweet, to get his attention. Crowley tightened his hold, taking in the warmth. 

“I think,” Aziraphale murmured in his ear, “this makes me your prisoner, my King.”

Desire shot through him, but he ignored it, pulling back. 

“For how long? When do you have to leave again?”

_ How long do I have you, until you’re gone? _

Beelzebub cleared their throat. “If my King  _ waits five minutes to let me explain and then leave _ –If you claim the angel as your prisoner, no demon would dare hurt him.”

“No. Absolutely not–don’t make that face, Aziraphale, it’s not safe!”

“Beelzebub is right. If you say to leave me alone, the demons are forced to listen.”

“And if they  _ don’t _ listen?”

“Then you can have them tortured in the deepest pits. Crowley…  _ I don’t want to leave you again.” _

Hell was no place for an angel. Aziraphale would practically be human, needing food and sleep, every miracle sapping his energy as long as he was cut off from the Heavenly Host. He would be vulnerable, surrounded by ten million demons all dreaming of revenge. 

No, Aziraphale was safer on Earth.

But he imagined Aziraphale going back to Earth, walking away, leaving him in the darkness of Hell. The angel would move slowly, waiting for Crowley to call him back, beg him to stay, and Crowley would be forced to sit and watch him leave again with no idea when they would meet again.

His heart would shatter at the sight.

Unacceptable. 

His grip tightened, pulling Aziraphale close again. 

He looked at Beelzebub over the angel’s shoulder. “Tell them, then. No one touches Aziraphale, or I’ll have them boiled alive in Holy Water.”

The Prince looked pleased. “Yes, my King.” 

Aziraphale had the decency to wait until Beelzebub left before settling on his lap and leaning in for more kisses. Crowley’s hands drifted to the handcuffs, but Aziraphale jerked away before he could miracle them away.

“No, leave them.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. 

“It-It’s for show,” Aziraphale stammered. “Can’t be a prisoner if I can fight back.”

Crowley’s mouth went dry. “You’re  _ killing _ me, angel.”

Nonetheless, he pulled Aziraphale, still handcuffed, to the bed. They had some time to kill, after all.

–

Aziraphale loved their new dynamic, playing the perfect prisoner. Crowley wanted to keep the angel safe in his rooms, but the thought of leaving Aziraphale alone made him panic. Instead, he took Aziraphale with him whenever he needed to leave, keeping him close and glaring at any demon who dared even look at Aziraphale. Most got the message and kept their distance, but there were those who still leered.

Aziraphale was unbothered by this. He stayed close, pressing against Crowley in a way that told the demons what exactly they did in their rooms. Crowley’s protests at the cuffs were ignored, Aziraphale “wanting to keep the charade.” 

Crowley, for his part, would pull Aziraphale along, letting the angel stumble over his feet to keep up. If he was sitting on his throne, Aziraphale would be on his knees, letting Crowley stroke his hair. 

The first night after he let Aziraphale go outside with him, he wanted to cry at the thought of hurting his angel. He desperately clutched at his angel, apologies falling from his lips, begging for forgiveness. Aziraphale wiped away his tears, whispering assurances and holding him tight. 

It took a full week to notice Aziraphale’s smugness, the possessiveness that was unbecoming of a  _ good angel of the Lord. _ Once Crowley noticed, it was all he could see; Aziraphale staring down the other demons when Crowley pretended not to notice, pressing down on the cuffs and the marks they left behind, trailing his fingers on Crowley’s thighs until the demon needed to pull him away with the promise of punishment. 

“You  _ like _ this,” Crowley said. “You like being my prisoner.”

“It’s a ruse,” Aziraphale defended. 

“Prisoners aren’t supposed to be so eager, angel. You like all of Hell knowing you’re  _ mine.” _

Aziraphale shivered. 

“Oh angel,” he cooed, a gentle sound compared to the harsh yanking of blond curls. “All you had to do was ask.”

_ “Please,” _ Aziraphale whispered, and that was that. 

Crowley spoke to Beelzebub. They were unamused, reminding him that they were the Prince of Hell, not some errand boy for his fantasies. Regardless, Beelzebub left a neat package in his rooms with a note to finish the paperwork on his desk. 

Crowley understood Aziraphale’s fascination with the handcuffs, but they would leave awful marks. Aziraphale never minded, pressing down on the redness and letting him kiss away the pain. 

Crowley had a better idea.

Aziraphale sat on the bed, watching him inspect the contents of the package. Beelzebub, for all their complaining, captured his vision perfectly.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered.

Aziraphale obeyed. Still dressed in white and curls perfectly kept, Aziraphale looked  _ divine. _ Three-piece suits slowly morphed back into white tunics, reminding them both of Eden. 

Crowley took his wrist. Aziraphale started, but his eyes stayed shut as he relaxed again. Crowley gently clasped the first bracelet, welding it shut with a little demonic miracle. The cool touch must’ve confused Aziraphale, he guessed from the frown, but Crowley kept moving, repeating the action on the other wrist. 

“Don’t touch.”

The angel obediently kept his hands apart.

Crowley’s hands trailed down his chest and then went even lower, to the angel’s confusion. Fingers traced his soft thighs, bents knees, ending at Aziraphale’s ankles. Again, he repeated the same process as his wrists, clasping the bands and welding them shut. Aziraphale flexed his feet, wondering at the cool sensation he couldn’t see. 

He stood, watching Aziraphale strain to hear his movements. For a moment, he stood still, admiring the view and letting Aziraphale suffer. 

Then, he moved to the final item in the package. 

He draped the metal around Aziraphale’s neck, whispering an apology for the cold touch. A final miracle ensured the necklace wouldn’t undo. 

He stepped back. 

Aziraphale was a  _ vision. _ Artists could spend their entire lives staring and recreating the image, and each would still fail. 

Aziraphale glowed with the divine light that not even Hell could extinguish. Hellfire created a soft, red halo as it reflected against the blond curls. Aziraphale could’ve been sitting in Eden, in Heaven, surrounded by celestial choirs. 

With blue eyes closed, the only color on the angel was on his wrists, ankles, and neck. Gold bands glinted in the form of serpents, ruby eyes blinking in the Hellfire. The bands fit perfectly, welded shut, and no amount of yanking would get them off. A sign of Crowley’s ownership, of protection from the other demons. 

A sign of Aziraphale’s desires, carefully hidden away in front of the angels and fully exposed to Crowley in Hell.

A sign of their love, the angel willing to suffer Hell just for them to be together. 

“You can open your eyes now.”

Aziraphale raised his wrists, studying the serpentine design. He tugged at the bands, eyes darkening when they didn’t come off. He tugged again, this time hard enough to bruise, and Crowley grabbed his wrists. 

“No, no. You don’t do that. They don’t come off unless I say.”

Aziraphale made a noise, primal and unable to be captured by words. 

The angel could, if desperate, miracle them off. 

He wouldn’t. 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale up, leading him to a mirror to see himself. 

A soft  _ “oh” _ left Aziraphale’s lips. Though the sight of bands on his limbs sent lightning down his spine, Aziraphale’s eyes focused on the necklace. It sat tight, not quite a collar, but impossible to pull over his head. The other pieces could be dismissed as simple bands, but there was no mistaking the serpentine necklace. Aziraphale was as good as branded. 

Crowley’s fingers curled around the necklace, eyes meeting through the mirror reflection. 

“Now they all know, angel,” he murmured, letting his breath tickle Aziraphale’s throat. “You look lovely, wearing my symbol. Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

Aziraphale kept staring into the reflection. “Yes… Yes, thank you, my King.”

Crowley’s patience snapped. Aziraphale could admire his reflection later. H pushed Aziraphale against the mirror, suddenly tired of the white cloth that kept his angel hidden.

After he was done with his angel, he was gonna get a fruit basket for Beelzebub. 

–

No wonder Beelzebub didn’t want to be King, Crowley huffed. The meetings were needlessly long, full of bureaucratic forms and loopholes. Paperwork was usually pushed to Beelzebub, the Prince completing the forms and leaving it on Crowley’s desk for the final signature, later collecting the forms to send to Dagon. 

The meetings, Crowley couldn’t miss. 

As King, Crowley could shift and wiggle all he wanted, no demon daring to call him out for being bored, but he still felt cramped. As soon as the final updates were given, Crowley would power walk to his chambers, stretching his legs for the first time in hours. 

After months of keeping his angel close, they decided that the other demons were smart enough to realize that Aziraphale was off limits. Aziraphale had his books to keep himself entertained while Crowley was away. 

Aziraphale would fret when he returned, pushing him to the bed and encouraging him to properly straighten his muscles. Crowley would lie down, talking about how boring the meeting was and how Beelzebub made sure he was present as payback for the paperwork. Aziraphale would read aloud from a book Beelzebub brought from Earth, and Crowley would be in a better mood when he eventually got up again.

When Crowley left his meeting, he expected Aziraphale to be in his rooms, book in hand. 

He didn’t expect an empty room, papers lining the floor and chair knocked over. 

There must’ve been a struggle. Aziraphale could fight back, he did fight in the Great War, but angels were weakened in Hell. It wasn’t a fair fight, and Aziraphale didn’t win. 

Someone took Aziraphale.

A demon came to his rooms and  _ took his angel. _

And Crowley knew who it was. 

He didn’t run. He  _ prowled, _ imagining Hastur dissolving in Holy Water, just like Ligur did. Hastur would scream–he screamed when Ligur died–and Crowley would watch the demon melt away until he had no mouth to scream from, until he had no nerves to feel pain, until he was nothing but a pile of clothes in a bathtub. 

Demons jumped back, bowing and making themselves small in the hopes that he didn’t turn on them. They could wait. Someone else must’ve seen Hastur drag his angel and turned a blind eye. They would pay too. 

Crowley’s human facade faded away in his search for Hastur, leaving behind the Demon King of Hell. Black scales formed patches on his skin, lining his cheeks and neck. Fingernails elongated into black claws, ready to dig into Hastur’s eyes. Teeth sharpened into fangs, snarling at the demons who didn’t jump away quick enough.

The Duke was in an office room. Crowley’s growl was Hastur’s only warning before he was pulled up and shoved against the wall.

_ “Where. Is. He?” _

Hastur’s eyes held fear. Crowley wasn’t some lowly field demon anymore. He was the King, and he was on a warpath. 

“I–Who–I don’t know–” Hastur clawed at the wall, trying and failing to steady himself.

“Aziraphale! Where is he!”

“I don’t know! I haven’t seen the angel! I don’t have him!” 

He leaned forward, putting pressure on Hastur’s neck. “Now isn’t the time to play coy, Hastur. Where. Is. Aziraphale?  _ Tell me.” _ His words echoed in the room, holding Hastur captive and forcing the demon to obey his King.

“I don’t know!” Hastur wailed again. “Please! I don’t know!” 

The truth.

Hastur didn’t have Aziraphale. 

That left ten million other demons as suspects. 

He let go, letting Hastur fall to his knees and gasp. 

Blood roared in his ears. 

Someone had his angel. A demon,  _ one of his own, _ took him. 

The roar got louder, mixing with screams of the damned, with crying and begging souls, with explosions, until the foundations of Hell shook at the wrath of its King and ten million demons were frozen in fear. Lights faded and sounds thundered until–

Crowley blinked. Suddenly, he could  _ see. _

Every room, every hallway, every corner was visible to him, superimposed on each other. It wasn’t a map so much as a fact. He knew where every demon was, and he knew that one demon was with an angel at the edge of the fire pits. 

He took a step forward, and Hell reformed around him. Desks and offices blurred away, leaving Crowley in an open cavern lit by bubbling lava. 

A demon–Iftaal, Hell whispered to him–stood beside a bleeding Aziraphale. The demon’s claws dripped divine blood, gold and pure and unworthy of a disposable, dime-a-dozen demon. 

The demon scrambled back, flinching at the sight of him. 

“My King,” she gasped out, backing toward the edge of a crater. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” He asked, stalking closer. “Did you think you could hide from me? From your King?”

The demon was trapped. There was nowhere for her to go other than backwards, and even then she would fall into a pool of lava. Hellfire was a comfort to demons, but the pits in Hell were created when the first angels Fell. If the demon fell backwards, she would relive the agony of Falling, of burning until she was remade into a shadow of her past self.

“The angel–”

_ “Is mine!” _

He grabbed the demon, letting her feet dangle at the edge, threatening to drop her. That was the demon’s plans with Aziraphale, after all, forcing the angel through the agony of Falling without actually becoming a demon. From the bloody claws, Aziraphale either put up a fight or the demon decided to have some fun first. 

He held the demon for another moment, watching her shake in fear. 

He tossed her aside, letting her crash to the ground. She didn’t get up again. 

Movement caught his eye. Aziraphale must’ve been awake, rolling over and trying to sit up. Gold stained his tunic, the fabric torn on one side. 

“Oh, angel… I’m so sorry.”

He pressed against the wound, hoping to stop the flow. It was all he could do. Demons couldn’t heal. 

“You found me. Saved me,” Aziraphale murmured.

“I’m the reason this happened. But you’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Crowley could do enough worrying for the both of them. Aziraphale needed to rest and heal. 

Somewhere in his mind, he saw Beelzebub gather the guards and make their way to the pits. Beelzebub knew where they were because  _ Crowley _ wanted them to know, some awareness that the Prince couldn’t explain. 

The traitor demon was pulled up by the guards, still alive. Other guards came towards him, waiting for the order to carry Aziraphale somewhere else. Crowley ignored them. 

“The dungeons,” he commanded, not looking away from Aziraphale. “No one touches her until I say.”

Beelzebub bowed. “Yes, my King.”

The Prince waved away the guards holding the demon, letting them pull the dead weight. The guards standing by Crowley were also waved away. No one else was touching his angel. 

He gathered Aziraphale into his arms, hoisting him up. There were no protests, the angel silently pressing his face against Crowley’s shoulder. Beelzebub moved closer, ready to help if needed, but they didn’t touch.

_ My rooms, _ Crowley thought, and Hell obeyed its King, reshaping between one step and another. If Beelzebub was surprised, they didn’t let it show. 

He sat Aziraphale on the bed, pulling out cloth to use as bandages. Hell didn’t have bandages. No one ever needed to be healed. If a demon was injured, no one was upset. Crowley improvised, wrapping the fabric around Aziraphale’s abdomen and pulling tight, whispering apologies at the flinches.

There was nothing to do. Aziraphale would need to heal the mortal way, with time and rest. Another angel could heal him, but there was no one to turn to, no angel willing to heal the traitor who abandoned them. 

Aziraphale would heal. 

In the meantime, Crowley had a punishment to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub, aka the one demon who gets things done.
> 
> Don't worry about Aziraphale, the worst is over for him! 
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments and kudos, and the final chapter comes out tomorrow! See you then!


	3. The Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale punish the traitor and get their happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> graphic torture in this chapter, minor character death

The traitor sat in the dungeons longer than Crowley would’ve liked. He knew what punishment he wanted, and it wouldn’t be possible until Aziraphale got better.

He had warned the demons that first day. If anyone touched his angel, he would boil them in Holy Water. Unfortunately, his only supplier was barely able to stand, let alone bless the water in Hell.

So, he waited. 

He sat, eyes unfocused, watching everything all at once. 

The hyperawareness didn’t fade after that day. All of Hell was in front of him, miles of caverns and tunnels stretching out in his mind. Every sight and sound played out, overlapping until he was forced to witness a blend of light and motion and noise. Demons walked the hallways, jeering at each other. Hastur was in his office, still shaking from the earlier confrontation. Beelzebub sat on their own throne, thumbing through paperwork. Aziraphale was lying down in their rooms, unbothered by the rest of Hell. Souls cried out, billions begging for mercy, each grating on Crowley’s nerves as they kept screaming, never needing to pause for breath. 

He saw himself, sitting on the throne, trapped in his mind. 

Sometimes, he could ignore Hell. He could focus his eyes and see directly in front of him without the dissonance of a second image. If Aziraphale or another demon needed his attention, he could come back to himself.

Mostly, he just sat. 

In another room, Aziraphale turned to Beelzebub. The angel had worried, doing his best to get Crowley to focus on the moment. For a few seconds, Crowley would whisper assurances and persuade the angel to lay down again. Those seconds never lasted long. 

“Are you sure,” Aziraphale was asking Beelzebub. 

“Yezzz. Satan did the same thing. Give him time to adjust.”

Aziraphale was getting angry, puffing up and getting louder. 

“Something isn’t right! He’s–I don’t know what’s wrong!”

“He’s the King of Hell.”

“He was King before this happened!” 

“This is different,” Beelzebub said. “‘King’ is more than just a title. Hell obeys its King, and the King knows everything that happens. He needs time to adjust.”

Aziraphale wasn’t convinced. He was confused, hurt, wanting to help but not knowing how. 

_ You should go to him, _ some distant corner of his mind thought. 

He stood, walking out of the throne room. He saw the hallway in front of him. He saw himself walking. He saw Aziraphale’s conversation with Beelzebub. Thousands of conversations echoed in his mind, none of them worth listening to but still ringing in his ears. 

“It’s been weeks,” Aziraphale argued. “How much longer does he need?”

“I’m not sure,” Beelzebub admitted.

There was a door in front of him. He opened it, Aziraphale and Beelzebub turning to him. The Prince bowed, murmuring a greeting that he heard despite the low volume. Aziraphale rushed forward, examining him. Blue eyes met his, wondering how much of Crowley’s mind was with him. 

He pressed a hand to Aziraphale’s cheek, letting him shift closer. 

“You should be resting, angel,” he scolded, voice echoing back in his ears. “I know you say you’re okay, but worrying isn’t good for you.” 

Still, he couldn’t fault Aziraphale. He knew something was different, but unlike Aziraphale, he couldn’t find the energy to be upset. 

He leaned forward for a kiss, eyes closing. He saw Beelzebub look away, offering them a moment of privacy. He saw Aziraphale’s arms rise to hold him before falling limp at his sides. 

He pulled away. Aziraphale stayed in place, frowning at him. 

He remembered to open his eyes. The angel didn’t like it when he didn’t look with his eyes. 

“Come on,” he said. “You should be resting.”

He led the angel back to the bed, coaxing him to lay down. Behind him, Beelzebub bowed out of the room to find other work. 

Aziraphale let him fret. Crowley straightened blankets and fluffed pillows, watching Aziraphale watch him. Eventually, the angel fell asleep, injury and worry wearing him out. 

Beside him, Crowley sat and watched everything.

–

Aziraphale got better. 

Time heals all wounds, including wounds inflicted by a demon. The angel slowly walked more, gaining back his bright smiles and easy laughs. His hands stopped flinching to his side at every loud noise. 

Soon, he was well enough to provide Crowley with Holy Water.

There were arguments, echoing through the caverns of Hell. 

Crowley refused to let the angel exhaust himself after being injured. 

Aziraphale yelled back, begged Crowley to let him bless the water in Hell. 

A blessing in Hell would undo months of healing, draining Aziraphale of energy. But a blessing on Earth meant that Crowley wouldn’t be able to go, though it would be easier on Aziraphale. 

Crowley was willing to wait years, decades, if it meant Aziraphale would be safe and unhurt. There was no reason to not let the traitor demon sit in a dungeon for that long, offering her as practice for new torture methods. 

Aziraphale argued that it would make Crowley look weak, other demons already waiting for punishment and wondering if their King was backing out of his promise. 

The final compromise was that Aziraphale would go to Earth with Beelzebub to bless the water and  _ immediately _ come back. Crowley gave a detailed explanation of what would happen to Beelzebub if anything happened to Aziraphale, and the Prince looked appropriately shaken when the time came to leave. 

It was then that Crowley learned that Earth was still out of his sight; he couldn't sense Beelzebub regardless of them being a demon. It explained how he got away with his Arrangement with Aziraphale, but it did nothing to help his anxiety at being blind to his angel. 

As Aziraphale and Beelzebub took their trip, Crowley gathered the demons into the Throne Room, the same from his coronation. They all waited, implicitly aware of what was to come, gleeful whispers echoing in Crowley’s mind. Hastur stood by the wall with the other Dukes, pale even when compared to the other demons. Crowley knew Hastur was glad to be found innocent. The punishment for hurting his angel would not be light. 

He saw the moment Aziraphale and Beelzebub returned from Earth, Aziraphale carefully holding an airtight thermos and Beelzebub keeping their distance. The two stayed on the other side of the door, waiting for their cue to enter. 

Crowley stood, signalling the guards to bring in the traitor. 

The demon was dragged in, guards not particularly caring to be gentle. The demon was clearly roughed up in the dungeons, bruises and cuts adorning her body as the guards decided to have some fun with the prisoner, but that didn’t stop the defiant glare on her face. Gold chains glinted in the Hellfire, clinking with every movement. 

He watched as the guards pushed the traitor to her knees, yanking her head down in a mockery of loyalty. 

Ah, well. The demon won’t be in that position for long. 

Crowley wasn’t setting up a trial. He was setting up an execution. 

Crowley circled the figure, footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent hall. Kneeling and bound, the traitor seemed to finally realize her position. Crowley watched her tense and fight the urge to turn and keep Crowley in its sights. 

He stopped in front of the demon, regarding her with a cool expression. 

“Did you really think that you could disobey me and get away with it?” Crowley asked, and then continued without letting the traitor answer. “I gave one  _ single _ order. No one touches my angel. And  _ yet! _ You did! And now, I’m going to make sure this never happens again. Do you remember what I said would happen if anyone hurt my angel?”

The traitor remembered, if the shaking was any cue. She stayed silent, but Crowley didn’t want silence. He wanted an answer. 

He pulled the traitor’s head up by the hair, forcing her neck up at a painful angle. 

“Do you remember?”

“Yes! I remember…”

“What did I say?” When he didn’t get an immediate answer, Crowley tightened his grip. “What. Did. I. Say?”

“H-Holy Water,” the traitor gasped. 

“That’s right. Hope it was worth it. Probably wasn’t.”

Crowley dropped the demon, turning to the doors. On the other side, Aziraphale and Beelzebub stood with contrasting emotions. Beelzebub was grinning, pleased to make an example out of traitors and solidify Hell’s loyalty to Crowley. Aziraphale was carefully blank, tightly holding the thermos of Holy Water. 

For one long moment, Crowley wondered if Aziraphale would back out, refusing to let the execution continue. 

Then the guards opened the doors at Crowley’s nod and Aziraphale’s expression hardened. 

Aziraphale took the lead, demons hissing and pulling back at the sight of an angel with Holy Water. Hell did nothing to diminish Aziraphale’s Divinity, and Crowley could swear he saw a golden halo illuminating his angel. 

Beelzebub stayed a step behind but matched Aziraphale’s pace. They were still the Prince of Hell, after all. Not even a thermos of Holy Water would force them to lose their composure. 

Aziraphale handed the thermos to him, fingers brushing in a small gesture of intimacy. For a moment, they looked at each other with such fondness and love that the other demons would be concerned if it was anyone other than their King. 

The moment broke, and Crowley turned back to the traitor, thermos in hand. 

“Now! I know I said I’d use this for a nice, refreshing bath, but I changed my mind. That’s too quick. You’d barely get the chance to scream. So, let’s do something else.” He turned to the guards. “Hold her down.”

Demons watched in horror as he opened the thermos and then held a hand out towards Beelzebub, who promptly offered a dagger. 

Carefully, he dipped the dagger into the thermos, lifting it up and letting the stray drops fall back into the thermos ominously. The  _ drip-drip-drip _ echoed as Crowley used the terror as an excuse to make sure no drops hit him in the process. 

He pointed the dagger at the traitor, and the guards joined her in flinching back. He ignored that, moving forward and touching the tip of the blade to her neck. 

She  _ screamed. _

The blade forced the Holy Water deep into her being, cleansing the Unholiness from the inside out. Holy Water, despite being a liquid, burned a demon like acid. What would be a soothing balm to an angel was a poison to demons. Barely a few drops, but the demon was in agony, though she would survive if Crowley stopped there. 

He didn’t. 

He dipped the blade again, keeping it angled away from him, and pressed the flat edge against the traitor’s cheek. She tried to pull back, away from the searing pain and stench of burning flesh. Smoke arose from where Divinity met Impurity, the traitor having no escape as it was held down and forced to endure. 

“Please,” the traitor gasped. “Have mercy! Please! I’m sorry! Mercy!”

“That’s nice,” Crowley said absently. “Too bad I don’t care.”

He worked his way down, leaving marks along the traitor’s neck, going to her chest, and lower to their abdomen. Demonic flesh easily gave under the Holy Water, allowing it to touch the very essence of the demon. When the screams started grating on his ears, he reverted back to pressing the flat edge of the blade to skin, leaving steaming marks. 

Beyond the raised edge of the stage, demons cringed away, too horrified to make a sound. The most Crowley could hear was a strangled gasp when the traitor let out a particularly pained scream. Beelzebub themself was paler than usual.

Aziraphale was carefully blank. He wasn’t pleased–good angels are not pleased at the suffering of other creatures, demons or otherwise–but he wasn’t outwardly upset, either. Crowley could spend the next decade trying to understand Aziraphale’s thoughts from that blank stare and get nowhere. 

Eventually, the traitor had no more energy to scream or yank on her chains. She hung limp between the two guards, and Crowley knew everything was almost over. 

The question is, how would he end it without hurting himself or the guards? Somehow, it never came up during his planning. 

He contemplated the dilemma, continuing with the torture in the meantime. He knew the traitor needed to be dead–destroyed–but there were so many possible routes…

“Crowley, dear?”

He flinched back, turning towards his angel. Impossibly soft blue eyes met his, holding none of the contempt that he was worried he would find. 

Aziraphale stepped closer, hand touching Crowley’s raised wrist, moving to grasp the dagger’s handle. 

“Now, I know that you want to punish her,” Aziraphale said casually, as if all of Hell wasn’t watching and listening as another demon was being tortured by the ultimate weapon. “However, as I was the one to be hurt, I do think I should, ah, land the final blow, as they say.”

“The final blow,” he repeated blankly. 

Aziraphale nodded. The angel’s hands left the dagger, instead taking the thermos. The blank expression was gone, replaced with something infinitely more terrifying. 

A vengeful angel armed with Holy Water. 

“Now, I doubt she’s going to run away,” Aziraphale assured the guards. “Why don’t you step back–yes, good, that’s a reasonable distance.” 

Aziraphale walked forward, grabbing the traitor by the neck and holding her just below eye level. For a few seconds, the traitor’s eyes lit up as she recognized Aziraphale. And then they dimmed again, realizing her position and having no more energy to fight. 

“So sorry about this,” Aziraphale smiled. 

The thermos was lifted above the traitor’s head and slowly tilted downwards. Holy Water trailed down, cutting valleys into her corporation as she found enough strength for a final scream. Stray rivets dripped down, thunderous in the silent cavern. 

A baptism for the damned until Aziraphale stood in front of a puddle and nothing more. 

Crowley hoped his fear didn’t show on his face. 

Instead, he turned back to his audience, taking pride in the fear that his angel caused. No demon dared to speak, to breathe. Millions of eyes were too terrified to move away from the sight of the avenging angel. 

“One more time, in case anyone tries to be smart,” Crowley warned. “Do. Not. Touch. Aziraphale. I’m sure none of you want to be on the other side of my angel.”

He held out his hand towards Aziraphale, pulling him close and leading him out. 

Behind him, Beelzebub regained enough sense to repeat his warning and start ushering demons back to work. 

As he led Aziraphale back to their rooms, he expected Aziraphale to slip. He expected worrying and fretting and nervous hand gestures. It wasn’t every day that angels helped torture demons, after all, and even if they did, Aziraphale was never one for violence. Instead, Aziraphale kept his head up, empty thermos held loosely by his side. Crowley grasped the free hand, wanting to get away as quickly as he could without outright dragging Aziraphale. And if the walk seemed shorter than usual and the walls blurred away for a moment, neither commented. 

He sat Aziraphale on the bed, expecting the privacy to be the breaking point. 

He was wrong again. 

Aziraphale watched him, blue eyes steady and without any anxiety. 

“Are you alright, my dear?”

“Me?” Crowley demanded.  _ “I’m _ fine! Are  _ you _ okay? You just–you–! Angel! You just killed a demon! Permanently! Gone forever!”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale acquiesced with none of the nervous ticks Crowley expected. “But you seem a bit off.”

“Are you in shock?” Crowley pressed. What were the symptoms of shock? Do angels suffer from shock? Was Aziraphale the first one? “Is that it? Do you need one of those red blankets? I can find you one of them.”

“My dear,” the angel smiled. “I’m not in shock, though you might be.”

That made sense.

“Yes. Yeah, that’s it. I’m in shock. Why are you so calm? You just killed a demon with Holy Water. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley to sit beside him on the bed. Crowley was helpless to resist, letting Aziraphale wrap his arms around him. The warmth helped steady the rising panic. A soft kiss on his temple soothed his heart. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale repeated into his hair. “I would do anything to keep us safe. And if that means disciplining any disobedience, I will gladly do so.” 

Of course. 

He remembered Aziraphale’s polite smile that did not match his steely tone, his steady hands gripping the thermos, his merciless gaze upon the traitor. Crowley had no doubt that Aziraphale would ruthlessly cut down any disobedience against the two of them. 

And he had no doubt that Aziraphale would now feature in every demon’s nightmares. 

“And besides, it’s safer for me to work with Holy Water than you, though I’m sure you had your fun.”

He shifted in Aziraphale’s arms, letting himself be properly hugged and pressing his face into Aziraphale’s chest. He murmured some incomprehensible words about enjoying the showmanship, Aziraphale petting his hair. 

Finally,  _ finally, _ they were allowed to be together without any consequences. Untouchable by Heaven and Hell alike, Crowley knew no one would ever hurt Aziraphale again. No one would pull them apart. 

Tomorrow, he’d go back to being King. Until then, he had the rest of the night to stay in his angel’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I told you they'd be okay! 
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, and I hope you liked the fic! 
> 
> You can follow me at [cleverlittlejay.tumblr.com](https://cleverlittlejay.tumblr.com/) for more GO content! Feel free to say hi!


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